Life, Coming in Digital
by AlyssaKendall
Summary: Slash. Colt Cabana is enamored with CM Punk, and it's fairly obvious why my hand plays them again and again. Colt Cabana/CM Punk.


**Title:** Life, Coming in Digital  
**Author:** Alyssa  
**Pairing:** CM Punk/Colt Cabana (I know, right?)  
**Rating: **M  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine, don't own  
**Summary: **Colt Cabana is enamored with CM Punk, and my hand plays them again and again. With lyrical interludes by Kyle Andrews' "Bombs Away"

_If all my visions turn up fatal_  
_Change the station to something stable_

It was perfect.

He smiled, outstretching his arms and holding the jersey up in front of him. The red and blue letters stood out brilliantly against the thin stripes, spelling out his name. Cubs colors; it was more or less an inside joke. Colt was sure that the expression on Punk's face would be priceless when he pulled open the bag and saw the large, embellished "C" over the left breast. The Cubs were just about the worst team to make their way out of Chicago, at least since Michael Jordan left the Bulls. Punk was a White Sox fan anyway. Colt chuckled quietly as he folded the shirt back up and replaced it gently into the bag.

He was right. He felt a hard jab to his ribs when Punk tore open the plastic handles, and dug through the tissue paper. Punk's jaw dropped a few inches before he narrowed his eyes, shaking his head at Colt. The small curl of a smile was faint but unmistakable. Colt howled.

"Is this some kind of practical joke, Cabana? You trying to curse me with this garbage?"

"Maybe!" he managed the words through a few hard laughs, wiping the corners of his eyes with the heel of his palms, "You never know, you might see the return of Scotty Goldman any day now! Maybe a curse wouldn't be such a bad thing – I mean, you've already been a World Champ in the top company!"

Punk sighed, rolling his eyes, still trying to hide his grin as he stared at the jersey. Inspecting it closely, he turned it around, looking at the back. Again, his jaw dropped with a gasp when he saw the letters P-U-N-K stitched across the top.

"Cabana…" this time, his name was said with more confusion than shock.

"Yeah?"

"You got my_ name _on this thing?"

"Well yeah, I wanted you to know I was thinking about you." He spoke the words earnestly, not putting a lot of thought into them. Still, the surprise was drawn all over Punk's face.

"You wanted to do that, you paid to have that done?" he paused, blinking at the other man. "For me?"

"Well yeah," this time the element of surprise was hinted in Colt's voice, too. "Of course. I wasn't kidding when I said it was a gift. For you. From…me."

"Colt, you didn't have to do that."

"I know, but…I wanted to, and I didn't really see the harm in it, so…I went for it. But if you really start to suck for Vince, don't blame me!" he glanced down at the jersey still in his friend's hands, smiling. Punk watched him closely, nodding and trailing his eyes back to his hands. There was a quick moment of silence as he flicked his tongue against his lip ring. Finally, he looked back to Colt, smiling.

"It's a Friday, and I'm off for once. C'mon, I'm starving. Let me order a pizza, man."

_Run away_  
_There's a bomb in the back of my head_  
_And if you stay_  
_There's a chance you will end up cleaning up the mess_

It was almost perfect.

Colt pressed the mug to hip lips, taking a sip of the warm, mulled cider. His allergies weren't always kind to him during this time of the year, and heavy spices in the beverage tickled his nose as he inhaled, swallowing the drink. There was a little too much allspice in the mixture, but he didn't mind. Even though he was supposed to be earning money, wrestling in Mexico at that exact moment, the past twelve hours that Punk had spent in his apartment seemed to make up for it.

"What's wrong, Cabana?"

The voice jarred him out of his thoughts and he pressed the mug to his lips again. "Nothing. Why?"

Punk shrugged, using a box of matches to try and light the candle inside his jack-o-lantern. He let out of a small victory cheer when the wick finally caught and the orange light flickered and danced through the cut-out face. "You looked sad for a second." Punk spoke the words non-chalantly, letting them pass quickly.

"I'm not sad!" he opened his mouth to protest further, setting his cup down on a coaster, but the older man's voice impeded his thoughts, changing the subject entirely without skipping a beat.

"Y'know… I know you were going for a Lionel Richie look, but your pumpkin seems to resemble more of an Albert Einstein, I'd say. See? Look, the mustache, the chin, the hair…"

"I'm not—wait." He stopped for a moment, looking closely at the pumpkin he'd taken his time to carve delicately. It took him over an hour to properly sketch the design on paper, and then transfer it onto the gourd. Now as he looked at it, following Punk's finger as he pointed out the features, his 80's soul singer really did resemble a World War 2 physicist. For a second he'd felt stupid, but Punk's amused grin brought a smile to his lips. He couldn't stop himself from chuckling as he spoke.

"Punkers. Isn't this why people hate you? You're always pointing out their flaws!"

Punk snickered, striking another match to light the candle inside of Lionel Einstein. "I thought I was pointing out a positive quality this time?" He shook the match out, smiling at Colt. "I fucking love Halloween. Come on, Colton. You got two days off with me, and you're worried about Mexico and Einstein? This is like the perfect time of the year, man!" he picked up his own mug of mulled cider, stepping closer to Colt. It was a rare occurrence, but the genuine smile on his face was unmistakable.

"I said I'm not sad!" as he said it, he felt the corners of his lips twitch upward. Picking up his mug, he took a strong sip of the cider.

"How much do you need? Rent money? A hundred bucks? Two hundred? A grand?"

Colt nearly choked at the words. "Dude! I don't need your money, man! I'll be alright. I got a few shirt orders coming in, and I can deal with Ramen for a few days if I have to – it's no big deal, seriously. I'm fine."

"Shut the fuck up, Colton, I'm trying to be generous for the first time in my life, and you're gonna turn me down? How the fuck much is your rent? And you better tell me before the fucking Trick or Treaters come out." He took a sip of the cider as he spoke the words, his demeanor held strong, unmoved. Colt flinched.

"Are you sure, Punk? I mean...my rent's six hundred, but—you really don't need to—"

"Six hundred? Done. My checkbook's in the car, I'll hook you up before I leave tonight." He wrapped an arm around Colt's shoulder, squeezing tightly. For a moment, Colt stood frozen, unsure of what to say. He wasn't a charity case, but by the same token, he wasn't about to turn down free money, either. It was in his blood. Jews didn't turn down a dollar. Bringing the mug back to his lips once more, he smiled earnestly, looking to Punk.

"I love Halloween, don't you?"

_Fall through the ceiling_  
_Fall through the floor_  
_Forget the feeling_  
_Just give me more time_  
_It was far from perfect._

Outside, the lightning struck brightly, casting showed skeletons of bare tree branches along the bedroom wall. Colt sat up abruptly, shivering slightly and pulling the fleece blanket up to his chin. The wind howled so loudly he could hear it outside of his complex, and with loud _CRACK!_ the thunder rolled. He brought his palms to his eyes, rubbing them slightly as he reached to pat the spot beside him on his bed.

He trailed his hand, expecting to feel a bump in the shape of a shoulder, but came up empty. Blinking frantically, he reached further, patting at the vacant spot as a chill of fear ran up his spine. Punk wasn't there. Panicking, he reached for his phone at his nightstand, yanking it from the charger, and clicking the screen to life. Colt let out a sigh when the date appeared on the background, registering itself in his mind. Punk wouldn't be home until the next night. Taking a deep breath, and working on his breathing, he heard another loud _CRASH!_ of thunder from beyond his window. The lightning had struck several more times when suddenly, he could hear loud pangs against the walls. Keeping hold on the blanket around his shoulders, he moved to the edge of his bed and reached to brush the heavy curtains out of the way, only to see golf ball-sized hail falling from the sky.

He moved to turned on the light, coming only to the realization that the electricity in his apartment complex had gone out. Returning to the phone, he clicked from his main screen to his weather application. His eyes widened when he saw the "life-threatening storm" warning listed for Chicago, Illinois. Another bright flash of lightning made him cringe once more, and before he could stop himself, he was hitting the speed dial in his contacts.

"Punkers?" he voice shook when he heard the other line pick up. "Where are you? Are you okay?"

There was a sarcastic laugh on the other end. "Dude, I'm fine. I'm still in Germany—flight got delayed. I was gonna call you, but… isn't it like four in the morning over there?"

"No—yes—I don't know! There's like a fucking life-threatening storm going on out here!"

There was a pause before Punk responded. "Are you serious? Is that what it says?"

"Fuck yes, I'm serious!" Colt felt the panic in his voice rise as he spoke, unable to tell if Punk was taking him seriously, "There are hail-sized golf balls falling from the sky!" He cringed when he heard laughter on the other end of the line.

"Colt, take a breath and relax, okay? Think about what you just said. Hail-sized golf balls?" Colt could hear him chuckling, "Just relax. They put those warning for idiots who are outside so that they get inside immediately. That, and, for anyone who's fucking stupid enough to wanna try and drive in that kind of condition when branches are flying all around. I'm sure you're safe Colt. Just don't try to ride your bike out in it."

This time it was Colt's turn to pause as he moved the receiver end of his cell phone back to his lips. "Really? That's what it's there for?"

"C'mon, Colt. I thought you were smarter than that! Yes! That's all that label's there for! So no dumb fucks try to sue anyone if they go out in 30 mile-an-hour winds. Tell me you're at least not planning on doing that."

Colt chuckled. "Well, truthfully, I was…but I guess now I'll have to wait. Damn it." The thunder crashed outside his window again, but this time, he didn't flinch. He just watched. The hail was getting smaller. Longer time lingered between each stroke of lightning.

"Asshole. Go back to sleep. Keep my side of the sheets warm, will ya? I'll be back in a day or so."

Even though Punk couldn't see him, he smiled. After another quick witty remark and a few extended good-byes, he hung up the phone. His smile faded into a pout as he looked to the side of the bed, wishing that the other man on the line didn't always have to be so far away. He turned away from his window as he pulled the blanket around himself, and this time rolled onto the other half. As he closed his eyes, he took in a sharp breath and pressed his nose to the pillow, trying to salvage the little bit of Punk that he did have for the next day.

_You know I love you_  
_Cause I'm still breathing_  
_Forget the moments_  
_As they come_

It was beyond perfect.

Colt felt his breath catch in his throat as Punk's hands trailed up and down his sides. Each short kiss he felt served as a tiny reminder of where he was and what he was doing. He could feel he sensation as it trailed from his stomach, down into his groin, and back up into his heart. This was something he wanted so badly for so long that he couldn't deny it any longer, and he groaned out the other man's name. As Punk pressed his lips to his own and the small lip ring pushing against supple skin, he gasped.

"More," he choked out the words, grinding against him as Punk leaned back against the headboard. "Please!"

"Do you want this?"came the austere response.

"Yeah, fuck yeah…"

"Calm down, Cabana."

Punk managed the words so coolly. Even as his own erection strained up against his abdomen, he was able to speak calmly. Always sober, Colt thought. In the midst of concentration and desire, Punk was able to think clearly about what it was that he wanted and how he was going to get it. Colt had self-control, but his efforts were overcome long before he could have stopped his hands from sliding down the waistband of Punk's boxers.

"C'mon," he squeaked out the words, "Need it, man…you're killing me, please…"

"I wouldn't say I'm _killing_ you," a reply with a smirk. "Just maiming you a little." He grinned, and Colt felt his stomach flip. When a sincere smirk escaped Punk's lips, and Colt knew his face must've been nothing short of priceless.

There was a _click_ of a cap, and before Colt could protest, the older man slid down on the bed, between his straddled legs. He groaned as he watched Punk slick his length, and nod. An unspoken exchange passed when suddenly, there was a spark; a white-hot flame. Colt gasped as Punk entered him, making him lean forward so that their torsos touched. For a second, lips met again, and Colt groaned, rocking back into the slow rhythm. Within a few long moments, pain subsided into pleasure as Punk bucked his hips against the larger man on top of him.

"Don't stop, don't stop…"

More than anything, he needed this, Colt thought, as the muscles in his abdomen began to tense. He'd needed it so bad and he didn't even realize it. All his life, he'd been waiting for something—someone—that he'd already had. He closed his eyes as he rocked back again on his knees, and this time it was Punk who let out a low moan.

"Cabana! Cabana, I'm—"

He pressed his lips to Punk's, cutting him off and moaning into his mouth as he felt the warm sensation with Punk's release. Unable to resist, he grasped at Punk's hand, and guided it over his length. With only seconds to kill, he joined him, releasing through tattooed fingers and collapsing against a tattooed chest.

When he managed to open his eyes and look up once more, Punk smiled. They didn't need to exchange any more words as Colt forced himself off of him, and lay beside him. The older man wiped his hand against the sheets, and Colt made a mental note to wash them in the morning. This time, there was a quiet _clack_ of a drawstring chain, and the room grew dim. Colt yawned, sliding a hand around Punk's waist that at any other moment in time would have been batted away.

_Tonight, I'm going straight for the throat_  
_You don't even know_  
_Tonight , I'm going straight, straight for the throat_  
_You don't even know what's coming, what's coming next_


End file.
